


swimming in the sound of it, dashed to pieces

by likewinning



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We are / not traitors but the lights go out. (Written for Comment Fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	swimming in the sound of it, dashed to pieces

He never had any clear pictures of Jason. Of Robin, yes – swinging from buildings like some street version of Tarzan, nose bloody from a lucky elbow to the face, posed on a rooftop like some statue of Peter Pan. Together with Batman, and Tim's breath always catches when he sees those, because Jason looked – so – happy.

But Jason – the boy underneath the costume that Bruce kept beneath a glass case, the boy everyone _talked_ about like he was more than Robin – Tim never caught a glimpse of him, before he was gone. Never heard his voice, never knew about the calluses his hands would have, the muscles in every part of him, until Jason held a knife to his throat and held him against him.

No one ever said Jason's _name_ , before then, except Bruce. Tim would wait for it, would try to taunt it out of people, would whisper it aloud when he saw the case, but it would never come. Jason, the one who died. Jason, who when he came back –

When he came back, Tim wanted to apologize. Wanted to say he had tried to live up to his memory, had tried not to betray Robin, betray _him_ -

But with a knife at his throat he couldn't be Tim Drake, couldn't be anyone but Robin himself, who threatened back.

Jason's voice, he knows, is not what it must have been once. Once it must have been joyful, free, something Tim has maybe never been at all – not since the earthquake, not since his mother's death, not since he began to understand just what he'd gotten himself into. Now Jason's voice is rough, biting as teeth on Tim's neck, hard as the grip of his hands on Tim's shoulders as he pushes Tim into walls, throws him to the pavement, does whatever he wants because –

Because he was here first. 

It's not that Tim doesn't fight. He does, he _does_. Kicks where Jason punches, covers Jason's mouth with his when he has to, offers his hand or a fist or something in _between_ -

With him, now, Jason is never Robin, the boy who died and never really came back. Never Red Hood, never any of the names Bruce or the others called him. He is only Jason, and he is, Tim knows, only trying to find answers under Tim's skin. Tim only hopes that he can help.


End file.
